A Case of the Mondays
by Blondala
Summary: It's only the most irritating phrase in existance, and it's the new receptionist's favorite. But Jim's not going to just sit there and take it. Hasty one-shot. K plus just in case.


Well, the idea for this hit me last night , and I had to go with it. It's a hasty one-shot, but it's a good distraction from my other story, An Interesting Week, which DRAGONWINGEDHANYOU STILL HAS NOT REVIEWED. So please excuse the badness of this oneshot.

I do not own The Office or Office Space, but I, too, find myself having to take Jim's vow of only watching it once a month.

* * *

The letters on the screen in front of him blurred together to create a black textile pattern on a white background. He blinked several times, trying to get his vision back into focus, but it was no use. He let his eyes droop, and his head fell forward.

The harsh, sudden ringing of the phone shook him from his unscheduled nap. He grabbed the phone.

"Hello?" He half-mumbled, trying to get himself back into work mode. Last night had been a long night. He had driven all the way from New York to Scranton, but had gotten caught in what could only be described as actual bumper-to-bumper traffic in NYC, and hadn't even gotten out of the city until 10 pm. Apparently, the one street he had to go down hosted a street fair earlier in the day, and a political protest had caused a mess that took hours to clean up.

"Sorry, wrong number," said a voice on the other end. Jim put down the phone. He yawned, then walked over to the reception desk.

"Hey," he said, peering down over the desk at the head of curly red hair that sat at it. The owner of the head looked up, and Jim, well, jimmed. It wasn't who he had been expecting. He couldn't honestly say he was surprised; he knew that the person he had wanted to see was two hours away, three and a half in street fair traffic. But the curly red hair was something new.

"Hello," said the chipper, young girl at the reception desk. Her new red hair looked oddly out of place against her lightly tanned face and still very blond eyebrows.

"Oh, uh, hey," said Jim, trying to cover for his mistake. "What happened to the blond?"

"Dyed it," said the girl at reception. "I was getting tired of blond, and Michael mentioned something about the old receptionist being a redhead, so I decided to try it." Jim grinded his teeth. God, that high pitched voice was annoying.

The girl continued. "Plus, the blond kind of took away from the necklace." She pointed at the gold necklace she was wearing that said her name in script: Barbara. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing," Jim said, in a hurry to get away from Barbara. He turned around and went back to his desk.

"Does someone have a case of the Mondays?" rang the sing-song voice as Jim sat down. He slumped over, covering his ears with his hands, and prayed that she didn't have anything more to say.

* * *

Jim walked out of the kitchen and into the stairwell, where he always went at lunch. He dialed the familiar number on his cell phone and waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello?" said a groggy yet sweet voice on the other end.

"Hey, Pam," he said, smiling.

"Hey, yourself," she said, a little brighter than before. "What's up?"

"Not much," said Jim. "You?"

"Ugh, I didn't get to sleep until 1 am last night," Pam groaned. "And then I forgot my supplies, and _then_ the teacher called my work 'flat,'" she said. "And in addition to it all, one of these pigeons left a little present on my favorite shoes."

"Wow," said Jim, "Sounds like someone has a case of the Mondays."

Pam was silent for a few seconds. Then, she spoke.

"…Jim?"

"Yeah?" asked Jim.

"What did you just say?" asked Pam suspiciously.

"Nothing," said Jim, confused.

"No, I heard you say, 'sounds like someone has a case of the Mondays.'"

Jim's eyes widened. "I did not say that," he said.

"You so did," said Pam, "I heard you!"

"Darn it," said Jim. "Did I really say that?"

"Clear as jello," said Pam. "What the heck is the Mondays?"

"Well, I think it's a bacteria in the cooties family, a close cousin of the heebie-jeebies." Pam laughed.

"No, seriously, where did you get that?" Her tone changed to a more suspicious one. "Have you been watching Office Space again?"

"No, no," said Jim. "Remember, I told you I'd only watch that once a month from now on."

"Right," said Pam in a fake-sarcastic tone.

"I actually think I know where I got it now," said Jim.

"Yeah?"

'That new receptionist, Barbara. It's her favorite expression." Jim sighed overdramatically. "Even on Wednesdays."

"That's sad," said Pam. She thought for a moment. "Tell me about this new receptionist person."

"Well, she's…" Jim tried to think of a way to describe her without implying that he thought she was attractive, which he didn't. "Picture this. Put a Barbie doll at your desk. Now make it life sized."

"Okay, but now it's 7 feet tall," Pam said. "Is my replacement a female basketball player?"

"I'm not finished," said Jim. "Now shrink it down to four foot eleven."

"Wow, that's almost smaller than Angela."

"Actually, I think Angela's four foot ten," said Jim. "now, give it bright red hair that's obviously fake and a terrible perm."

"Wow," said Pam. Then, jokingly, she said, "Is she prettier than me?"

"Pam," said Jim, "Comparing you to her would be like comparing you to a Barbie doll. You're real and funny and beautiful and she's, well…"

"Supermodel gorgeous?"

"Plastic," said Jim. "Especially in the brain area."

"Wow," said Pam. She paused. " I think I have to go back to class."

"What? It's only…" Jim looked at his watch. "Darn it. I have to get back to work."

"Well, I'll talk to you soon," sighed Pam. "I wish Pratt was in Scranton."

"I wish Dunder Mifflin was in New York," said Jim. "Then I'd get to go to a street fair without dreading the traffic later!" Pam laughed.

"Love you," she said.

"Love you too," said Jim. "Keep working on that case of the Mondays."

"Jim," said Pam, "If you ever say that again I will personally hit you over the head with an easel."

"Noted," said Jim. Pam hung up, and he hung up. Suddenly, though, she had the urge to ask her something.

_Clear as Jello? What the…_but the conversation was over, and he had to go back to work. But on his way up the stairs, he got the best idea he had all day.

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Barbara."

Jim would never get used to that voice. He had been hearing it for the last two weeks and would be hearing it for the next two and a half months, but he knew he wouldn't get used to it. Still, he made himself turn and look at reception.

"Oh, he's not in," said Barbara, glancing at Michael's empty office. Michael had gone to an afternoon Lamaze class with Jan. "Sure, I can take a message." She reached for a pencil, and pulled out of the drawer a pencil that was encased in it's very own thin block of jiggly, green jello.

"Very funny," she said, covering the receiver. "Just a second," she said into the phone, and she reached for another pencil. Again, she pulled out a jello-ed pencil.

"Hold on just one second," she said, and she covered the receiver. "Guys, this isn't very nice," she said to the office. She reached into the drawer and pulled up a handful of jello sealed pencils from the drawer.

"Whoever's doing this, this is not funny!" she yelled, forgetting to cover the receiver. She realized her mistake and went back to the phone. "Oh, Mr. Jenson, I'm very sorry about that…"

Jim smirked.

He wasn't the only one with a case of the Mondays.


End file.
